𝐇𝐇 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 - Hazbin Hotel

adam..

TW! RAPE! PLEASE SKIP THESE CHAPTERS IF YOOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE

The smile on his face was like a fluctuating tattoo, forever there, even as it turned from a grin to a smirk to a baring of teeth. It was settled now, not so much as a facade but as a real expression.

He felt more dangerous when it was real.

Adam yelped as Alastor's shadow-servants, little rascals born of sin, scurried and scrambled and clawed their way all over him. His boasting turned to distracted hollering amongst the challenge, while Alastor watched in amusement. "—red piece of— fuck —too much fuckin'—red—fuck— shut up!"

" Ha! Poetry," he quipped, radio tracing his words.

The wendigo of his soul snarled, his power thrilled at the brutality. It hadn't been long since he'd last unleashed his true demonic form, but that didn't dull the enjoyment of pure, remorseless savagery. He took hold of the angel in a tentacle of darkness, then smashed him into the hotel's sign. Alastor's grin only widened as he saw his opponent crumple, before furiously shoving himself back up.

Earlier Adam had been angry, but now the look on his face was far past that. "I'm gonna wipe that shit-eating grin off your face—" Adam leapt into the air, angelic wings beating as he raised his axe in rage.

"— because radio's FUCKING DEAD! "

CRACK!

With a slash of his blade, a wall of celestial light blasted Alastor. He barely had time to shield himself, shadow tentacles shooting to his aid too slow, as he instinctively raised his staff. Tingles shot through his body, ears flattening against his head as it passed.

Then it was gone. Alastor forced his eyes to open, but something was wrong.

" What just happened?"

His voice was too normal, not a hint of static. But that meant nothing when he realized the weight in his hands was lopsided. Looking down, the scepter with which he had embedded himself, his reputation, too much of his power, was snapped in half. The microphone sparked and sputtered, as shocked as he was.

"FUCK."

He looked up, trying to register that he'd just lost his most vital weapon, when Adam lunged forward, axe swinging toward his chest. Alastor was too late to move, helpless as the first man slammed him back into the wall. A howl ripped through the air.

Alastor fell to the ground, smile flickering as he hid his face in shock. Adam stalked closer, smirk settled firmly on his face, as Alastor hissed, trying to comprehend what had just happened. He was on the ground, before an opponent, in a battle. He couldn't have lost, could he?

Of course not. He was the radio demon, infamous, dangerous, a predator.

A warm, painful feeling came from his chest, bright sanguine liquid he would typically find delicious in his victims dripping onto the concrete. He stared at it in bewilderment, and looked up enough to see the two broken pieces of his microphone. As well as a shadow he did not command, that of his assailant.

Adam looked down at him, triumphant over his fallen opponent. Alastor imagined tearing the angel limb from limb, strangling him with his own intestines, how his angelic blood would taste as it spilled from his corpse. "Have to disagree with you there!" He reached for the pieces of his microphone and pulled them back to his person, powers weakened without it. The words were pathetically strained.

But he was hurt, by an angelic weapon no less. Untreated, the magic in his body would be unable to stitch him back together. Alastor could be dead in minutes. The fight, for the first time in a long time, was over and finished by his enemy. "Radio's not dead , but it is ending this broadcast ."